SURviving Scandoval

The Anthology

An anthology of Vanderprose and verse responding specifically to the Scandoval era of Vanderpump Rules, Season 10 as well as homages to other eras of the Vanderpump Rules universe. This anthology is edited by contributing mixologists Kristin Garth, Gina Tron, Jane-Rebecca Cannarella and Marisa Silva-Dunbar. The book also features work by:

ORDER

LISTEN

to our playlist created by Tara Giancapro aka Sweaty Lamar

SIP

a Scandovalian linguistic libation prepared by Justin Karcher, one of the many verses collection in SURviving Scandoval.

When I Look in the Mirror, I See an Angry Swan Chasing Tom Sandoval Through a Millennial Cemetery

by Justin Karcher

I have a confession to make: I don’t wanna be a ghost sometimein the future 

floating over a cemetery where my generation is buried, all these profane

mausoleums for our unimpressive legacies, self-loathing stainedglass scenes 

depicting those special moments when we could’ve been slightly better

but weren’t, how we didn’t learn a thing because that’s how we got more viewers

anything else just didn’t cut it, I guess there’s a takeaway here, what it was like 

living our twenties when America grabbed the millennium by the twittering throat

and started never letting go, maybe cutting off our oxygen brought out the worst in us

monstrous astronomers mapping out a sky belonging to no one else, the stars

of our own reality ignoring the world around us, shit happens to every generation

but we didn’t rise above the sins we inherited, narcissists cheating on the people

who love us, lying to ourselves and our friends about how we feel, twisting the truth

so much we got lost in translation learning to fake our way through every confession

and come-on, there were fuckboys baptized by a river but there wasn’t any water

just gallons of windshield wiper fluid and us furiously racing toward something

but never figuring out what, there were TikTok spiritualists standing in front of the dawn

and slamming back kombucha shots, reciting poems that meant absolutely nothing

tricking ourselves into thinking there was fire in our veins and I suppose that in itself is 

a beautiful thing, that the sun was still present even if it was in the background

the best we could do having beauty be a prop, but deep down I know we wanted more

it’s just that things felt so insurmountable all the time, like nothing mattered, blessed

or cursed with a smoldering garbage dump and not knowing how to put it out

because nobody taught us how to love ourselves, so all we could think to do was put it

all on display, the only tools we had and I’m not trying to makeexcuses, we still got drunk

divorced like our parents did and played in shitty cover bands banging our boomboxes

together a little too hard that we sterilized whatever groove was left, forever young

but there was nothing really to grow into, we were more brand than human

a lot of us got stuck in it and I’m no different, but there were nights at least

we made an effort to be genuine, tried to figure out this yearningwithout being

an asshole about it, lost souls trying to run away from that everywhere camera

and I remember this one time because someone wanted to dress like a swan

for some stupid fucking party, so we were talking about what a group of swans is called

how nobody wanted to look it up afraid the answer would beless interesting than the ones 

we were were spitballing, there was a superfluousness of swans and a psychotherapy

of swans and a separation of swans then someone broke because it was impossible not to

how they reached for their phone to find out the answer as the rest of us shouted 

no with all our hearts, but we couldn’t stop their momentum toward disappointment

and, yes, we weren’t happy with the results, multiple answers, if the group of swans 

is in the air, it’s a wedge or a flight and if they’re on the ground, it’s a bank, silence

fell on the room, because we knew it was up to us whether we stay put or aim 

for the moon and my other greatest fear is that when we die, future generations

will conclude we decided to simply hover over all these unresolved issues

millennial is what that’s called, what it was like living our twenties when America

grabbed the millennium by the twittering throat and started never letting go, I guess

there’s a hopeful takeaway here, that we’re still alive and any swan needs at least

30 yards to become airborne and the same again to reach a safe height and I guess

we’ve always been a yard or two short but maybe not always